Secrets
by CoffeeQueen
Summary: Damon visits Elena of the eve of Founder's Day; Baking, talking, and dancing ensue, secrets revealed. *Just behind the playfulness, she could sense something else, a hollow longing, an ache that throbbed just below the surface of those contemptuous eyes.*


**Secrets**

The kitchen was bright from his vantage point; the window above the large sink allowed him to see her clearly, vividly against the darkness that surrounded him. A cool wind blew, rustling his shirt and hair softly under the starry sky. Tipping his head upward, he enjoyed the breeze for a moment, not taking his eyes off of her floating form for a second. She moved with grace and precision across the kitchen, rearranging pans and stirring things, occasionally dipping her finger into something to give it a taste.

She paused at the sink for a moment, washing something he couldn't see. He watched her vigilantly; her gaze drifted languidly from the sink, to the bushes, to the sky, to the tree in which he perched, before her eyes crinkled into a squint, as if she had seen a suspicious shadow, something lurking in the darkness. He didn't curb the crooked smile that spread along his lips as he silently made his way to the back door in an instant. His hand groped along the wood until his fingers reached the doorknob, it gave under his touch and was back in its original state before she even had time to blink.

"A little midnight baking?" He crooned easily, stepping into the soft light as if he had been there all along.

Unquestionably startled, Elena jumped, her arm sending a pan clanging to the cool tile beneath her feet. Or at least would have; Damon caught the pan with one hand in midair and Elena's unnerved arm in the other. The save didn't keep the contents from spilling, however. A mushroom cloud of flour settled over their heads before sprinkling to the previously spotless floor.

Damon slid the pan noiselessly to the counter from his half crouched position between Elena and the cabinets. The cloud between them settled slowly, leaving them in a snowy haze; Elena blinked through the fading blanket of white, her eyelashes coated with ashen particles as she looked at him, her expression still astounded.

"You've got a little something," he smirked, his thumb reaching out, tracing along her cheekbone.

Elena rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away. Bracing herself on the counter, she stood up. "What are you doing here?" she muttered, her eyes fixated on her powdery state.

"Oh, just hoping to borrow a cup of sugar…got the flour covered." Damon licked his lips, suddenly wishing it had been powdered sugar. "That's some greeting, by the way."

"I could say the same to you," she retorted, her eyebrows arching. She had now taken to dusting off her arms and brushing at her navy t-shirt which lost its faded appearance with each stroke of her fingers.

"You really shouldn't leave the door unlocked," he teased after a moment, distracted with Elena's movements. "You never know who is going to come in."

She stopped cleaning her shirt for a moment and reached for a washcloth. "Yeah, there are just so many unwanted vampire guests in the neighborhood. It's hard to keep track."

"Ouch," Damon winced, clutching at his heart for a second before his signature smirk settled in. "So, what are we baking?"

"Cookies for Founder's Day. Every year there is a bake sale run by some of the founding families to raise money for next year, and every year I contribute." Elena turned toward the sink again, turning on the faucet and letting cool water run over the checkered washcloth for a moment before wiping her face. A thin layer of flour coated the rag, which she stared at a long moment before rinsing it off and ringing it out.

"You would," he muttered, fixing her with a grin and crossing his arms over his chest. "Your halo is positively radiant, my dear."

Elena pursed her lips before flinging the rag in his direction; his hand snapped out to catch it without a flinch. "You have a little something, all over yourself. Makes you look even paler."

He smirked lightly, tossing the rag in the air a few times before wiping the light dusting of white off of his face. He tossed the cloth to the counter skillfully, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window as he did; a light dusting of flour coated his hair. Grimacing slightly, he ran his fingers through his dark mane generously, shaking it a bit before turning back toward Elena.

"You've got some on your shirt too," she offered, gesturing to the grey fabric.

"So do you," he replied smartly, reaching out to yank the knot on her shirt. "And in your hair."

Giving him a sour look as her shirt rebounded back into place, Elena noticed that he did the same thing, pulling his shirt away from his chest and letting it go until a puff of white lingered in the air. The ribbed material clung to his chest, and she had to remind herself to look away, busying herself with searching for the broom to clean up the mess.

"Could you check on those cookies in the oven?" she murmured as she reached into the pantry.

"Sure," Damon shrugged, doing as she asked. The fragrance of chocolate chip cookies rapidly filled the room. He inhaled deeply, feeling the warmest inside he had all day. A faint smile played around his mouth as he turned to Elena, who now swept the flour into a neat pile on the floor. She glanced at him for a moment before reaching for the dust pan.

"Cookies are fine…" He was there in an instant, holding it at an angle while trying to decipher the sadness in her eyes.

"Thanks," she said monotonously as she carefully swept the flour into the pan.

"Not a happy baker?" he questioned, cocking his head to the side as he stood from his kneeling position.

"What?" she murmured, almost distractedly. "No, no. I…I just normally do this with my mom. I _did_…"

Damon nodded wordlessly, his brows knitting together concernedly as she took the dust pan from him and emptied it into the trash. She took the broom and stored them back in the pantry, her face contorted slightly as she made her way to the oven. "You know, I almost forgot…"

"Elena…"

"I would've over looked it completely if Jenna hadn't asked me about it," she said softly, letting her hair down from her bun, attempting to shake the last of the flour from her. She didn't bother putting it back up, and her hair hung loosely around her face.

To Damon she looked less put together than he had ever seen her, and with good reason, but tonight, he thought she looked more beautiful than ever. "Elena," he began again, faltering as the timer on the stove sounded.

She went to it mechanically and took the batch of cookies out of the oven, placing the pan on a cooling rack. She ripped the oven mitts off of her hands and leaned against the counter, staring at the clock on the stove. "I don't want to let her down…"

"You couldn't let her down, Elena. That's just not possible," he said just behind her, his voice so low she could barely hear him.

"Thank you, Damon." She turned around slowly, her coffee-colored eyes drifting up to meet his. "There's just been so much going on. I mean with Isobel and Uncle John and…and Bonnie's just coming back around and –"

Damon could sense the stress building as she spoke. Putting his hands on her shoulders calmingly, he crouched down to look directly into her eyes. "Hey, we don't have to talk about it…if you don't want to."

"There's just so much to think about, it's making my head spin," she confessed, relaxing under his touch.

"I know, but the way I look at it, Isobel's gone, and John…he got what he wanted, he'll probably leave soon, and Bonnie's back! Still hating me, of course, but that's something I can live with…" The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled; he hoped he could draw a smile from her. "There are some major pluses in there, miss."

A small smile formed on her lips, much to Damon's pleasure. Something that quickly faded as she looked toward the window, her eyes clouded over with worry. He directed her chin back to him, holding it between his thumb and finger.

"Listen, Elena," he began slowly. There was no cleverness on his tongue, no mischief in his eyes. "I know that you've been through a lot this year, and I won't pretend to know what it's been like or that I know how to make it better, because I don't. You have a lot weighing on you. But, sitting here tonight worrying yourself sick won't change any of it. It will all be there tomorrow when you open your eyes. Waiting."

She drew in a small breath as he continued. "So, tonight, you're baking cookies, the hard way for that matter. You are allowed to take the night off. To have fun, even. Just don't waste it with worrying. Nothing is worth that look in your eyes."

She looked back at him, almost disbelieving this person in front of her. He rubbed the curve of her chin with his thumb before releasing her. She was nearly speechless. "Damon…thank you."

The sincerity in her voice made his stomach curl. "That's what I'm here for. Your eternal distraction. So, fire away, ask me anything."

"Anything, huh? Let's see…" She smiled briefly, grateful for the distraction, before turning toward the cooling cookies. She took a spatula from the drawer and began to spoon the cookies into the waiting Tupperware container. "A free pass to ask Damon Salvatore anything. I'm a lucky girl."

"Consider yourself the first," he replied, reaching for a warm cookie.

"Bake sale," she reminded him with a tap on the hand.

"Distraction," he retorted as he picked up the cookie and broke it in half, leaving her side on the counter.

"Alright, then…what were the 1800s like?" When he made a face, she added, "You know…the balls…the chivalry."

"Out of all the questions you could've asked you want to know about the 1800s? Really…that's what you want to know?"

"Yes…" she defended herself, putting the lid on the container. "I'm going through a Jane Austen phase…"

"Oh, Jane. I knew her well. A real nice broad, a little mushy for my taste..." He said casually, following her across the kitchen as she put the cookies with the other containers.

"You're such a liar," she turned on him, shooting him a look. "She died before you were even born."

"1817, smart girl," he conceded with a tip of his head. "So…the 1800s…carriages, chamber pots, gas lighting…"

"Damon," Elena chided, fixing him with an annoyed expression.

"Alright, alright. Well…we lived in a nice house, as I'm sure Stefan has told you. It was beautiful really, lots of space, lots of trees, a garden…slaves." He said the word bitterly, regretfully. "I enlisted in the army for the war, with the Confederates, of course. The war was…well, it was horrific. Hands down, worst experience of my life. I had never seen anything beyond the perfect gates of my home, and it opened my eyes to the vicious, cruel side of the world."

Elena shifted uncomfortably; she had never really thought about what it must have been like for him, fighting for something he didn't believe in, seeing men die. His eyes clouded over for a moment, lost in some awful memory. Damon shook his head lightly, a weak smile on his mouth. "But you don't want to hear the hauntings of a deserter. You want to hear about the pretty dresses and extravagant parties. I don't blame you. That side of that era was flawless."

He smiled without abandon, leaning forward on the center island, his forearms resting against the wood. Elena followed his lead, finally taking up her half of the cookie and enjoying it.

"There's no feeling in the world like filling up your dance card with girls' names that you've been eyeing for weeks. Or dancing to some of the most beautiful compositions ever created. Not exactly the same as the stuff that's on the radio these days."

"I can imagine. Trust me, I have." Elena laughed in spite of herself.

"You have?" Damon inquired, his eyes revealing his curiosity.

"Sure, I have. What modern girl who's seen _Pride and Prejudice_ a million times hasn't? It all just seems so…romantic." Elena sighed, soon regretting her choice of words as she saw something spark in his eyes.

"Well, you are officially the luckiest girl in the world, Miss Gilbert," he cooed as he slid away from the island and headed toward the kitchen table where her laptop rested. "May I?"

The way he looked back at her made her nearly speechless, and she nodded without allowing herself to think of another option. He smiled before fiddling around for a moment, the clicking of typed keys the only sound in the room. He soon walked away from the computer, bypassing her to go to the pantry and reappearing with a floral apron. The pieces clicked together when he turned her around and tied the apron low around her waist, the fabric soft against the backs of her legs. He tied the knot close to her waist, his fingers brushing against her shirt lightly, an action which enacted a fury of butterflies in her stomach.

"Damon…" She fought for words.

Their eyes met for a brief moment before he held one finger to the air and disappeared into the living room. He had returned before she had time to analyze the situation and how she should be feeling about it, a black tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked down in concentration for a moment as he finished tying it, smoothing it out against his chest. In an instant he had gone to the computer, pressed a button, and was now in front of her again, his brow set sincerely.

"Miss Gilbert," he bowed, eyes piercing, "would you honor me with your hand for this next dance?"

"Yes," she breathed as he took her hand, kissing it softly before pulling her toward him.

Slow, melodic piano music had filled the room. It was melancholy and beautiful, something she had never heard. Damon became a wire frame, nudging her arms in just the right ways to achieve the same effect. His arm remained straight and stiff, bending at his elbow and wrist, his hand resting behind her shoulder blade. He took her hand in his right, making them statuesque as well.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three," he guided, pulling her in the right directions in time with the music.

Elena moved along with him easily around the kitchen, enamored with his ability and poise. After a few steps, he stopped counting, his hold on her growing more secure as the pace of the song increased. The circled around the room in silence as the music grew heady. Damon's ice-blue eyes were full of unspoken emotion, as if he were waltzing with a ghost. Neither of them dared to speak.

The composition came to a rather abrupt end, leaving Elena jarred in Damon's arms, which gave expectedly under her weight. He had stopped at the exact moment the music had ended, knowing the piece well. It took a moment for Elena to regain her composure as she pulled away from him; her face felt hot.

"The song…what was it?" she wondered, hoping he couldn't read her as clearly as she thought he could.

"Brahms, Opus 39 Number 9," he quoted, taking him a moment to find his voice again. "It was only a small section of an entire piece."

"It was beautiful," she murmured, finding it difficult to look at him directly, her mind racing. Her fingers fumbled with the knot at her waist, only stopping when his fingers impeded hers. She forced herself to look at him.

"We're not done yet," he informed her, loosening the knot and pulling the apron higher up on her waist before retying it. "One more trip through the history of dance. Feel like heading to the 1930s?"

Elena blinked for a moment as she watched him loosen the tie. "Why not…"

Without a second's hesitation he was gone and back again, she had barely had time to stare at her feet. A crackled melody filled the kitchen, as if it were being played on a gramophone. Damon stepped forward once more, taking up her hand without a word, his arm sliding around her waist carefully. He pulled her much closer than for the first dance, their bodies were mere inches apart now.

They were silent for a time, Elena couldn't help but hear the lyrics loud and clear, and they did nothing to ease the speed of her heartbeat. _'Here in your arms, I can't remain. So let me kiss you, once again…'_ Her mind was growing foggy, and Damon's eyes burned into her. She focused on his now crooked tie as he led her around the kitchen once more.

"Is that Jeremy's tie?" Her voice sounded weak as she tried to diffuse the tension between them.

Damon nodded. "It was hanging on the coat rack."

"He was supposed to wear it to Miss Mystic Falls a few weeks ago," Elena frowned. "I guess he didn't…"

They grew quiet once again, the old-timey crooner's soothing voice filling the space between them. Elena cleared her throat softly; she could feel his fingers moving ever so slightly on her waist.

"So," she said after getting a grip on herself. "Where were you in the 1930s?"

His lips pursed as he thought. "Roaming," he finally answered. "Mainly Europe. But I remember exactly where I was when I heard this song for the first time."

"Where were you?" she pressed, interested in this new side of Damon.

"Sitting at a train station in Switzerland. Things were heating up over there, as I'm sure you can imagine. I was leaving, and this was the first English I had heard in weeks," he closed his eyes for the briefest moment, as if being transported. "I just remember being happy, and the whole train ride to Paris I just kept on thinking about how I wanted to dance with someone to that song."

He simply blinked for a moment, as if he didn't know his own tongue. But then he looked at her again, his clear blue eyes sincere, and she knew he was being completely unbidden, genuine. Her arms tightened around his neck, as if to thank him for such a rare moment. Her lips moved spontaneously, in the spirit of his words. "Did you?"

"Not until tonight."

"Was it everything you hoped it to be?" She could scarcely breathe.

"So much more…" he murmured, clearly struggling internally with something unseen.

The song winded down slowly, and with it, so did their pace. Damon pulled Elena a little closer as the song finished out, and she didn't protest. A tremor shot through her as she felt the sigh of his breath on her neck, as if he were singing along silently. She could barely keep her composure as they swayed there in near quiet, worries and cookies long since forgotten. He pulled his hands away from her slowly after the song had ended, much more slowly than he should have. They both knew it.

"Beautiful, again," Elena said uneasily, aware he could see right through her façade.

"It called, 'Auf Wiedersehen, My Dear,' Russ Columbo, '32," he listed off as if reading her mind.

"German, impressive," she smiled, taking a step backward. She focused on undoing the strings at her side now, sensing that he was watching her.

When she looked up again, he was loosening the tie the rest of the way and dismantling the triangular knot. He threaded the silk tie through his hands for a moment before letting it flop it over his shoulder and pushing up his sleeves past his elbows. "So, did you learn anything, Miss Gilbert?"

Elena thought for a moment, her heart still racing, choosing her words carefully. "I did, Mr. Salvatore…you're a good dancer, and you actually have good, if aged, taste in music."

"_Actually_," he laughed, repeating the word. "Why, Elena, you have just uncovered the greatest family secrets of all. You know, besides the whole vampire thing…"

"Well, look at me," she replied in a sing-song tone, her body still tingling from dancing.

Damon smirked, his mouth contorting, his mind unmistakably somewhere else. She thought she had a pretty good idea of where as he looked her over, drinking her in, from her grey shorts to her unruly hair. He shook his head for a moment, as if straightening out his thoughts. His mouth opened for a moment, eyebrows furrowed with concentration as he took a step toward her. His mouth opened once more, his lips wavering and crashing down upon one another in a heavy, resolute breath.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Elena," he said, placing the tie around her neck as he brushed by her, heading toward the back door. He paused for a moment along the threshold. "Oh, remember to keep those secrets. I wouldn't trust them with anyone else."

She turned to face him, a smile playing on her mouth as she met his eyes. Just behind the playfulness, she could sense something else, a hollow longing, an ache that throbbed just below the surface of those contemptuous eyes. A shiver coursed through her, and something in her vaguely wondered how long they could pretend, avoid, resist.

"Your secrets are safe with me," she promised, not knowing what to feel. "Good night, Damon."

He lingered in the doorway, the open door allowing the cool breeze to flood the warm kitchen. He pressed his lips together for a moment, as if trying to compose himself, trying to regain that carefully crafted cool detachment. But there was nothing sparkling in his eyes as he looked at her for the last time, no pretense or deception, nothing but raw feeling. His secret was out, lying between them without defense, and he didn't have the strength to hide it any longer.

He nodded toward her lowly as he stepped through the door, the shadow of a smile on his lips. She stood there motionless, numb from their exchange, as she watched him leave, the darkness consuming him as he closed the door without a word. She found that she could hardly breathe, her stomach twisted, her heart pounding.

Damon watched her from the tree; his body slumped against the bark, drained. She slowly pulled the tie from her neck, looking at it for an enduring moment before laying it on the island along with the apron. Her hands shook, and she fiddled with the fabric for a moment before leaning against the side of the island. Elena stared ahead, her gaze unfocused as she ran her fingers through her hair. Allowing her hands rest on the back of her neck, she squeezed the spot roughly before shaking her head.

He watched her as she cleaned the kitchen in a daze, until she turned off the lights. She held the tie slackly between her fingers as she walked toward the stairs, and Damon strained his eyes to watch her until she was completely out of sight. His mind focused on her light footsteps as he closed his eyes. "Until we see again…" he murmured the meaning of the song softly to the dark sky.

He remained there until he heard her crawl into bed, slowly pushing himself away from the tree as he thought about tonight, about his brother's words. _"History will not be repeating itself where Elena is concerned."_ But Damon had sought her out, not to spite Stefan, but to ease something inside himself, something that made him feel alive, almost human again. She drew him uncontrollably, and he wanted her for his own. But if the truth be told, he wanted his brother too, something he knew was nearly impossible.

Shaking his head a little, he walked home in the cool breeze of the night, memories dancing around in his head. Things he hadn't thought of in half a century plagued him, emotions bubbling to the surface, and he willingly allowed them, his mind soon whirling back to Elena and their song. The melody echoed in his mind, and he smiled to no one in particular, relishing in the joy of unburdened secrets.


End file.
